


A World Inverted

by Jasandmonty



Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Meetings, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-17 18:42:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5881483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jasandmonty/pseuds/Jasandmonty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of ways the tmi characters meet and realize that they really love each other in a world with no demons</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Clary

Her shift consisted of painting on her sneakers and waiting for one of her six daily customers to wander through the door. 

Most of the people who came into the Humans Unknown History (or, as Clary fondly called it, HUH?) had no idea what it was. Sometimes they were curious tourists who thought that it might be a popular New York attraction until they realized no one had reviewed it on Yelp. Sometimes it was roaming city-goers who hadn’t noticed it before and felt a tug toward the small yellow door that you had to duck through to walk in unless you were very small, like Clary was. 

Only sometimes did someone walk in like they knew what was inside, like it was waiting for them.

That someone today was Isabelle Lightwood.

Her dark clothes made her look a little unreal against the pastel yellow walls inside the tiny studio. It was almost like someone had cut out a picture of a beautiful, striking model from a magazine that featured sharp and sleek fashion and glued it into Clary’s place of work. She would know, anyways. She loved mixing and matching different pictures from different magazines. She loved mixing and matching in general. 

“Hi!” Clary dropped her paintbrush in a foggy glass of water on the desk and stood to address the stranger. “Welcome to the exhibit. Do you want more information or do you want to look around first? No pressure.” 

The girl was tall and a little scary, but she had a camera slung around her neck that made her look a bit more inviting. She smiled at Clary. “By more information do you mean explaining what this place is? Because I’d love that.” 

“Sure!” Clary hopped down from her stool and hurried across the paint-splattered floors in her mismatched orange and pink socks, not bothering with her still-drying shoes. The stranger smiled at this. “The goal of our exhibit is to let the art speak for itself. We don’t include the name of the artist on any of their work until after it’s sold, so people can expose themselves to new art other than the stuff painted by critically acclaimed artists. We cover their names with tiny pink index cards.”

Her ever-widening smile widened even more as her dark eyes trailed slowly around the room. “Cool.” 

“We try to keep it inexpensive, so everyone can enjoy. Some art comes and goes in a matter of hours. The little placard beside it will tell you the date when it was brought in.” At the end of her speech, Clary backed away from the girl and retreated to the desk again to let her discover in silence. “My name is Clary, if you need anything.” 

“Isabelle.” The dark-haired girl murmured, and it sounded like art itself when her throaty voice rasped on all the right syllables. 

“Isabelle.” Clary repeated, and her airy little voice didn’t quite do the bold name justice. “Nice to meet you.” 

Clary wanted to get back to painting a forest on her sneakers, but her eyes kept trailing up to Isabelle. Their space wasn’t that big. Most people did a quick lap around the room and left, occasionally buying a piece or two. But Isabelle’s steps were small as her high-heeled boots clicked softly on the cement floor. She moved slowly and stared at each piece of art for a prolonged moment, like she wanted to give each one an equal chance to impress her. 

Clary was intimidated, and a little bit in love with her. 

Isabelle was tall and fierce and scary, with her black clothing and sharp features. Clary was bright and tiny and child-like with her paint-stained denim overalls and messy red ponytail. They didn’t really go together. 

Eventually, Clary felt like her staring was getting creepy. She went back to her sneakers and stayed fixated on them until Isabelle’s voice was addressing her.

“I want this one.” Isabelle declared, setting on of the pieces on the desk with care. 

Clary sat up in her chair and peered down at her choice. Her heart shuddered a little, because Clary knew which piece that was. She knew the black background made of dark pictures of guns, knives, and injuries. She knew the foreground with bright white clips of nurse uniforms, flowers, and sunlight, all in the shape of an angel. She knew that the message of the art was that there was a balance between good and bad in life, and she knew that not everyone understood it. She knew that that piece of art had been in the exhibit for months, longer than any of the others. 

Clary knew all of this because it was her name that had been covered with a tiny pink index card.

“Oh,” She breathed. “That’s--that’s mine.” 

“What?” Isabelle’s dark eyebrows arched. “Is it on hold for you or something?” 

“No I mean like, that’s my art. I made it.” 

Isabelle grinned again, wider than any other time in the past hour. “Really? Wow. I love it. It’s so...mixed and matched.” 

Clary accepted the seven dollars, her first ever commission that didn’t come from her best friend, and watched Isabelle sign her loopy signature on the receipt. Then Clary watched her write something else below her signature. 

“My number.” Isabelle clarified. “I’ve never dated an artist before.” 

“Are you sure?” Clary asked. She wasn’t sure why exactly she was questioning the beautiful girl who wanted to go out with her, but her lips kept moving. “I mean you’re so--I’m so--we don’t really go together.” 

Isabelle shrugged. “It’s just mixing and matching.”


	2. Alec

Alec was not comfortable with working the counter, but he had to do it.

His only other co-worker in the bookstore had had a family emergency. She’d called last night to tell Alec and he’d told her that it was absolutely no problem at all. Then he’d spent the rest of the night psyching himself up to work the counter. 

The small little bookstore smushed between a music shop and a cafe didn’t get a huge variety of customers. Bookworms were a diverse species. They could either be quiet and withdrawn like Alec, who used books like an escape artist. Or they could be bursting with energy; people who carried pieces of every universe they’d ever read about in them. 

The two didn’t always mix well. 

On a rainy Friday morning, everyone was either at work or taking shelter at home. The only other living thing in the store besides Alec was Church, the cat that roamed the store and curled up on reading people's’ laps. Alec was rubbing Church’s neck with his thumb when the bell on the door jingled and the roar of the rain outside cut through the beautiful silence. Alec looked up.

He was holding a yellow umbrella that said “FUCK, IT’S RAINING” and he looked relieved to be inside. The stranger had piercingly vibrant green eyes and black hair that was rolling over his face and obstructing his sight as he struggled to close his profane umbrella. Alec stared for too long. His hands had frozen over Church’s fur and the cat, always the diva, mewed loudly to grab his attention.

At the sound, the man at the door looked up. He stared at Church for a few seconds, then shifted his gaze to Alec with a growing smile. 

“A cat, huh?” He chuckled as he moved toward the counter. “Barnes and Nobles doesn’t have that. Can I pet them?” 

“Uh, yeah.” Alec said, watching the cat slink towards the stranger and rub against his shirt. “His name is Church. He just kinda lives here.” 

“Good company.” Magnus mused as the kitten playfully nipped at his fingers. “I’m Magnus, by the way.”

In the four times that he’d ever had to work the counter, Alec had never had this long of a conversation with someone. Usually they asked for certain titles or purchased their books in peaceful silence. Magnus, however, seemed eager to become acquainted with Alec. Alec would be extremely bothered by this if Magnus weren’t so distractingly beautiful. 

So he said, “I’m Alec.” Then he said, “You can have a look around if you want.” 

Magnus got the hint. He grinned at Alec as he retreated into the maze of shelves. Alec relaxed back against his chair and lifted Church into his lap, staring at the space where Magnus had stood. 

Sometimes, when Izzy came home from dates, she described the guys in ways that Alec couldn’t picture. He couldn’t imagine the faces of the men she described. Humans couldn’t possibly look that flawless. But now when Isabelle described a date as flawless, Alec would picture Magnus in his head. 

He emerged from the book forest unusually quick, and he had a stack of at least twelve beat-up paperbacks in his hands. He walked straight back to the counter with a content grin and dropped the pile to the counter with a dull thud. 

“All of these?” Alec murmured as he grabbed the price gun and began to check them one by one. On the dusty screen of the computer each book came up for a dollar, the sign of books that had been turned in for store credit with the pages nearly falling out. “Candide and The Shining, huh? Those are...different categories.” 

Magnus shrugged. “I didn’t look at the titles.” 

Alec stopped pricing to stare at him. “What? Why not?” 

Magnus grinned; he had been waiting for this question. He had the beam of light in his eyes that indicated his excitement to explain himself to someone, especially someone who willingly asked to be told. “Because it doesn’t matter. If you only go to a certain section of the bookstore, you miss out on everything else. Like, if you assume all you like are mystery stories, you’ll never find that one sci-fi book that might be the most amazing sci-fi book you’ll ever read.” 

“Yeah I guess but...but don’t you still have a preference? Like you can read books from every genre, won’t the majority that you like still be from a certain kind?” 

“Sure.” Magnus allowed with a pleased grin. He was clearly happy to have a participating member of the conversation. “I like adventure. But sometimes I read a realistic fiction book that I want to get the title of tattooed on my arm.” 

Alec was fairly certain that people this interesting didn’t usually come into the store. There was a slim chance that this kind of person was common and Alec had only missed experiences like this when he was stocking shelves, but he highly doubted it. It wasn’t common to find someone that was basically a book character come to life. Magnus’ mind probably had more ideas in it than existed in all the combined books in the store.

“Huh.” Alec couldn’t help the smile that was turning his lips up. “That’s interesting. I’ve never tried it.” 

“What’s your favorite genre?” Magnus prompted. 

“Sci-fi.” Alec admitted softly. He usually didn’t tell people that. 

Magnus grinned and turned back to the shelves. He came back a moment later with a beaten up book with a red cover and a golden heart looping around the title. 

“Romance?” Alec muttered doubtfully. “I’ve probably never read a romance.” 

“Well try it.” Magnus said as he reached for one of the sticky notes and pens behind the desk. He jotted down a number quickly and stuck it on the book. “And call me when you’re done to tell me that I was right.” 

Alec stayed up until four in the morning crying over the stupid book, because he fell in love with the main character within the first chapter and he refused to sleep until she was happy. There were no aliens or demons or weapons, but Alec put it on his shelf with all of his other favorites anyways. He agonized for the rest of the next day over if it was too soon to call Magnus or not, but broke down by noon and called anyways. 

The door jingled and Alec spotted the bright yellow umbrella only a few minutes after he’d hung up the phone. 

Maybe working the counter wasn’t so bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next up is Isabelle with Simon 
> 
> come talk to me on tumblr @kindasimonish


	3. Isabelle

She had her pink-bottled pepper spray in one hand and her light blue camera in the other. 

Isabelle was not scared of the city at night. She maybe should have been and maybe someday would be, but for now the only thing that scared her was pepper spraying the wrong person on accident. Which, honestly, sounded like something she’d do. 

She didn’t even work at night most of the time. Mostly she worked during the day, because during the day people were friendlier, less drunk, and less likely to be really creepy. But today Isabelle’s daylight had been taken up by her little brother, who dragged her around the city on an expedition to find a rare comic book that would officially complete his collection. 

They hadn’t found it. But she had found the inspiration for a new dress in the stacks and stacks of vintage, dusty pages. 

A noise caught her attention from the right and her hand instinctively tightened around her pepper spray. She relaxed a moment later when she realized that the sound came from a nearby car that was idling on the curb of the club that had just opened in town. The presumed owner of the car was showing no desire to be inside the club that had a line wrapped around the entire block. Instead, he lifted himself up to sit atop his vintage-looking car with a pronounced silver bumper and faded blue paint. 

He was outlined by the luminescent light from the club’s sign, which read Pandemonium in shockingly red lettering. Isabelle couldn’t see his face, but she could see his clothes. That’s all she needed.

“Hello. Hi? Excuse me.” She tugged on the leg of his jeans until he looked away from his phone and down at her. “Hi. Can I take a picture of you?” 

He seemed alarmed. “What?” 

“It’s my job.” Isabelle explained it the way she usually did. “I’m in fashion. And if I see inspiration in people’s outfits, I take their picture. It’s okay if you don’t want to, but it’d really help me out.” 

He slid from the top of the car, eyebrow arched. She could see his face now, and she had to admit that she’d be fine with just taking a picture of that alone and leaving. He had varyingly pronounced features; his bone structure was all sharp edges and lines, but his eyes and expression in general were soft, open, gentle. 

“You want a picture of my sneakers, jeans, and Ant-man shirt?” He asked with doubt clear in his voice. “I’m sure you’d have better luck inside. I saw this one guy wearing a shirt that was covered in belt buckles--”

“No, actually.” She interrupted with a small smile. “Your outfit kind of fits my theme. I was in this comic shop with my little brother today--” 

This seemed to pique his interest. His brown eyes lit up and he tilted his head to the side, like a puppy who recognized one of his keywords. “Which one?” 

“Forbidden Planet for about three hours.” Isabelle said, groaning at the memory of being crammed in the small shop for an agonizingly long time while Max flipped through boxes that he’d already checked a million times. “And then a few others. Galaxy, Desert Island, Bergen Street.” 

“Did you try Bulletproof?” He asked. “It’s pretty new, but they have some rarer stuff. It’s not even that expensive, especially for variant editions which can be pretty hard to find these days if you don’t--” He stopped abruptly, the light in his eyes dying away like someone blowing out a flame. He drew his jacket tighter around himself. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to ramble.” 

“Oh, you weren’t!” Isabelle insisted. “It’s okay. You can talk about it. I talk about fashion all the time. If people don’t want to hear about it, they can walk away.” 

The boy stared. Then he extended a hand. “I’m Simon.” 

“Isabelle.” 

“So uh,” Simon settled back on the hood of his car, clearly not alarmed anymore by Isabelle’s presence. “Which copy were you looking for? I don’t have that many rare ones but I have a few. My dad use to help me collect them.” 

Isabelle pressed a hand to her eyes. “God I hope you have this one. It’s Detective Comic number 140.” 

Simon’s mouth fell open. “First appearance of The Riddler? The beginning of Edward Nigma? It costs like, a million dollars and there’s only like, fifty copies left in the market.” 

She sighed. She knew this information already, because she’d spent an hour in the New York City public library researching the comic book on a slow computer that had been there since the 80s. She knew that she’d probably never find the book, never make Max happy, never find out who the fuck The Riddler was. 

She sighed again. “Whatever. I knew it was a lost cause.” 

“I didn’t say I didn’t have it.” 

Isabelle froze. Then she raised her camera, uncapped it, and motioned for Simon to stand again so she could get a full shot. “Don’t bluff. It’s okay, Max is old enough to understand how something printed in like, the 20s is hard to find now--” 

“The 40s, actually.” Simon corrected as he pulled out his phone. He swiped the screen a couple of times with his thumb before turning so she could see it. There was a picture of him, definitely when he was younger, holding a beaten up comic book proudly with a wide grin on his tiny face. She recognized the cover. It was the cover she’d been looking for all day, double checking in every stack to make sure she hadn’t missed it. 

“Oh--Oh my God.” She shrieked, yanking the phone out of his hand entirely. She zoomed in with a pinch of her fingers and studied the cover for a second longer before moving on to study Simon’s younger face. This was clearly three or four years ago. His teeth were covered with a train track of blue and red braces, his glasses were nearly covering his entire face, and he had an unmistakable glow that seemed to have gone missing between the time the picture was taken and now. 

Isabelle hastily shoved the phone back into his hand when she realized that she was staring at him more than the comic. 

“Look, I can’t give it to you.” Simon said in a voice that suggested he would if it weren’t a collectors item and possible family heirloom. “But you could come check it out? Take pictures so your brother can still read it?” 

Isabelle nodded immediately. She’d never met anyone during her city wandering that was as open as Simon, as willing to talk as Simon. It was usually “get out of my way” or “fashion isn’t really a job, you know.” 

It was never “come over to my place and read my rare comic with me.” 

And they were never this cute. 

“Simon!” A sudden loud voice drew their attention away from each other and over to the club exit, where a tiny redhead who teetered on high heels and a taller, slightly more sober girl leaned together as they drunkenly made their way to the car. Simon rolled his eyes, but he looked fond. 

“I’m the designated driver for girl's night out.” He explained to Isabelle, already shrugging off his jacket so he could drape it over the redhead. He opened the back door and half-escorted, half-wrangled the girls inside. “I can introduce you to my best friends when they’re not hammered. That’s Maureen on the right and that’s Clary, trying to call someone with the bottle of window cleaner.” 

Isabelle nodded, taking it all in. She felt a twinge of disappointment when she saw Simon opening his door and climbing in, not entirely ready for their conversation to be over.   
“Here,” She quickly dug a business card out of her bag and handed it to him. “Call me.” 

Simon ran his thumb over the glossy card-stock and smiled down at it, a flush creeping up the back of his neck and the tips of his ears. Apparently this kind of thing didn’t happen often to him, either. 

He waved at her as he drove his friends away. The realization that she hadn’t gotten his picture hit her as she walked halfway down the street. It didn’t matter, she decided after a moment of standing in the road. 

She’d see him soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next up is Raphael!
> 
> come talk to me on tumblr @kindasimonish


End file.
